High Road
by chaz remix
Summary: AC 197: Unification has almost destroyed the global economy. In reaction, rebel cells are springing up all over the world, threatening war. The Gundam Pilots have parted ways and ideals, and now face each other on opposite sides of the battle. Ch.2 up!
1. End Game

_**Disclaimer**: Neither my coauthor nor I own Gundam Wing. All original characters do, however, belong to us. Please enjoy the story._

_**Note:** This story takes place in AC. 197 -- the pilots are 18 ( except Trowa, who is 19 ). War between anti-Unification rebels and the Unified Army seems impossible to avoid. The story begins on the brink of another mobile suit war, this one without the benefit of Gundams. The pilots have split ways and now are finding themselves facing off on opposite sides of the battle. The young men who once won peace are now left struggling to determine which cause is right -- total, Unified peace, or personal identity?_

_**Pairings: **Undetermined, but watch for Hilde, Sally, Noin, and Dorothy to show up, along with several male and female OC characters._

_**Please, Please, PLEASE, review this story! **The end product is going to be huge, but we're going to need a lot of constructive criticism, so please let us know what we should work on or if we miss something. Also, let us know if you're enjoying the story! Thank you!_

**High Road  
**Part One: _End Game_

_Chapter One_

_T_here was a cold and slow rain that day, blanketing the ancient city in a dull gray that seemed suck the life out of the world. But though his blonde locks were plastered down to his face and his clothes were soaked despite his protective overcoat, Quatre Raberba Winner couldn't have been bothered about the weather. There were far more important things on his mind than London's long, dreary fall and its promise of wet weeks. He thrust fists like ice into his pockets and blew out a long breath that floated like smoke into the air, pelted by rain. Beside him, Heero Yuy let his cobalt eyes skim once more over the alley.

"You can't have been surprised." Heero's voice was hardly a murmur over the pattering of raindrops against the gravel at their feet. Quatre didn't bother to look his way, knowing that his Japanese companion would be staring out over the street, watching for danger. Instead, he pulled air back into his lungs and shook his head.

"Surprised isn't the right word." But what was? "I simply commented that the rebels are more organized than I expected given the short amount of time since Unification. It's only been two years, Heero. They've either got serious financial backing or a substantial supporter."

"Whatever they've got, it isn't going to matter in a few weeks. Whether Miss Relena approves or not --" the last was a scathing insult, the _Miss _spat off of Heero's tongue like some foul-tasting morsel -- "war has come again."

Quatre held back a wince by sheer power of will. Most of the Western World had been economically shattered by Unification, but stubbornly he held onto his peaceful ideas, unwilling to concede defeat. There were times at night when he still doubted his choice, but then again, he hadn't had much of one. Publicly, long before all this craziness, Quatre had backed global Unification, but at a much more moderate pace. Relena had swept through and created a single Earth Sphere Unified Nation, obliterating all national and political borders seemingly on a whim. But what could he do? He'd cast his lot with the Peacecrafts, and held onto the elusive dream that one day, battle would no longer exist.

He wasn't an idealist. He'd seen too much in his young and war-filled life for those kinds of dangerous illusions. But he had dreams, just like any other man. Just like the man standing beside him.

"There was a time not too long ago when you would have followed Relena Peacecraft to the grave," he reminded the stoic brunette softly. For a moment, he wondered if Heero had heard him, and then those stony blue eyes cut to the entrepreneur's face.

"Those days were different," he replied softly, an edge in his voice that told Quatre to pursue the matter further would be utter foolishness. "Unification at the hands of such a bleeding heart as Relena was a sheer disaster. And I think we both know she's a puppet regent with generals and viceroys pulling her strings."

Quatre opened his mouth to deny it, and found that he couldn't -- Heero's words rang with truth.

"I guess I don't have to ask you what side you'll be fighting for," he said instead, his mind wandering to the rebels, constantly moving, starting skirmishes and disarray. And yet a part of him ached to be with them, to be fighting for a cause he believed in, to be fighting for homelands and blood ties and the right to bear personal _and _national identity.

"I guess not."

Quatre's mouth firmed into a hard line. Once Heero had chosen a path for himself, there was little to say that could sway him.

"Right. As your friend, I wish you luck and good health," he said, shaking the Japanese man's hand, "but as your enemy I can't wish you victory."

A ghost of a smile. "Goodbye, Quatre. Until we meet again."

It would be on the battlefield, and they both knew it with startling certainty. They nodded to each other one last time, and then Heero was moving briskly away, melting into shadows and rain clouds like a bad dream. On the brink of winter, and again Quatre watched a trusted and dear companion walk away, perhaps for good. For the umpteenth time, he felt deserted and orphaned. He'd long ago lost touch with the other Gundam Pilots, part of an unspoken agreement to bury the skeletons in the back of the closet. His communications with Heero had been his last tie to the past. Funny, things had seemed so much more certain then, good and evil clearly defined as black and white, with very little gray space between. But now their was nothing left but shades of gray.

His beautiful eyes turned to the sky, his mouth twisted wryly. _Ever the shades of gray. _

The line was drawn in the sand now. If he saw Heero again in this life, it would be down the sights of a gun. He had no idea where the other pilots stood on the matter, but he supposed it didn't matter. As it was, he was prepared to take charge and fight if he had to. He'd be seeing the front lines again, sooner than he'd imagined.

"Godspeed, Heero." He shook his head and turned, quietly picking his way around growing puddles and out of the alleyway. There was nothing left to do now but return to work and try not to think about the violently rising tide.

---

Restaurants are always loud but today the clinking of silver wear and the sounds of too many people talking at once filled O'Malleys to the brim seeming to leave no room for Meilin Tsukishiro. She pushed her way through the crowded restaurant with a tray in one hand, the other hand out like a linebacker, her head swimming in thoughts of sitting down in comfy chairs and silence. She served one table, took two orders, then retreated back to the kitchen where Louie and his army of chefs milled about in the smoke and strong smell of burnt salmon.

"Um, Lou that man at table 3 wants his Cajun salmon now." She rolled her emerald eyes and set the tray on the counter next to the beverage machine. She then turned, grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and chugged it.

"Well its ready but you let one of the others get it to him. You've been working six hours without a break." Lou said, his accent thick and harsh as he yelled to her over the noise. She smiled at him and tugged at the collar of her "O'malleys" polo as if relieved. One of the cooks handed her a sandwich, winked, and walked back over to the deep frier.

"Thanks Raul!" She called to him as Lou continued to insist she take her lunch. She ran up to him, kissed his cheek, and then headed out the back door.

The silence and fresh cool air hit her like a brick wall. She soaked it in for a moment before letting out a loud, relieved sigh and letting her long black hair fall from its pony tail. It was overcast outside and the clouds were dark and threatening rain. She frowned at them, imaging them frowning back and saying "Yes. We bring thunder and other things that scare you like lightning and strong winds!" She shivered and took a seat on the curb pulling her arms in around her tight. She had just started thinking that she should have really brought out a jacket when she noticed movement off to her right. She turned her head slowly, a cold feeling growing from her stomach. Not more than fifteen feet away from her stood a tall man covered in dirt and dried blood. There was a deep gash across his forehead and it looked like his left arm was bleeding in two different areas. Meilin dropped her sandwich, but made no other moves. Her limbs wouldn't work, all she could do was stare as he approached. She didn't know what to do. If she screamed, no one would hear her; the restaurant was too loud and too busy.

"Get up." The man ordered, his voice scratchy and worn as if he had been screaming for hours on end. Meilin did as she was told, afraid that the man was armed. Her eyes searched him quickly for a weapon and found a gun in his belt. She gasped lightly right before his hands closed around her neck. He backed her against the bricks of the building roughly, the white of his eyes a contrast to the dirt and dried blood that covered his face. Meilin struggled, her feet barely touching the ground. She was feeling a panic she had never felt before as she stared into black menacing eyes. "You are going to go inside and find me a first aid kit. You are going to bring it back out here and you are not going to talk to anyone in between do you understand?" He growled in her face, then shoved her roughly to the ground. With tears in her eyes Meilin stumbled to her feet and hastily made for the door. "If you don't come back," The man started right before she opened the door. She paused to listen to the threat. "I'll find you." She didn't turn to look at him. She simply swallowed hard and continued into the restaurant.

The familiar sounds and smells all seemed muted. Louie said something to her as she passed by but she simply couldn't hear him. She went straight for the hostess stand where the first aid kit was held and took it no questions asked. The kitchen was a blur as she rushed through it trying hard not to let tears fall and praying that neither Lou nor Raul would fallow her outside. One of them asked if she was ok and she nodded quickly then rushed out the door.

"What took so long?" The man demanded as he snatched it from her grip and dropped it on the ground. He knelt by it and tore it open digging for gauze and alcohol pads.

"I had to get through the crowds." She said quickly backing towards the door. The man grunted at her, then continued with his wounds as if she had disappeared. She had turned and placed a hand on the door when she heard "ouch!" and a stream of curses in Chinese fallow. She turned back towards the man and watched as he peeled the cloth of his shirt from one of the partly dried wounds on his arm. She could see through the dirt now, as if a window had opened up. The man was younger with black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. He winced again as he peeled off more cloth and now Meilin could see a piece of shrapnel embedded in the mans arm.

"Y-you're going to need a doctor."

"You get back inside!" He ordered her, his eyes filled with rage and pain. She starred at him, for a moment making eye contact. She couldn't find anything but rage in him, and pity filled her heart. He had to be part of the war, and thought she was curious, she knew not to ask what side he was one.

"You don't order me around. That's MY first aid kit." She gave him a harsh look and received one in return, but no rude remark. He simply sneered, then continued dressing his wounds. She let down some guard and took a step forward. "Would you like some help?"

"No. I told you to get inside. You never saw me."

She straightened, feeling insulted and turned towards the door. "You're welcome." She muttered and re entered the restaurants.

---

He glanced up just as the door was closing behind her forcefully, his "Thank you," dying on his lips as he realized she'd abandoned him to the cold and his own icy company.

For a long moment, Chang Wufei stared at the door that the young woman had slammed in his face and felt emotions boil up inside him almost to the bursting. There was, of course, the anger at being shot down during battle, the exhaustion from his frantic flee away from the scene of the crash, and then just the pain as he tried to dress his own wounds. But there was something more than that here. He felt…guilty.

Wufei's treatment of women was not what most Westerners would call civil or polite, but he lived strictly by ancient Chinese traditions. When women were given the kinds of freedoms that Western women had, they had the kind of problems that Western women had -- too much ambition made them try to take on a career and a family, leaving households wrecked and broken, too much sex appeal and vulnerability left them open for attack by predators, particularly sexual predators, and too much empowerment only left them clamoring for more. Had he been in China, that woman never would have spoken to him that way. It simply wasn't done.

And yet, here he was, standing in the cold back alley of a pub, feeling remorseful. It wasn't something he had much experience with. But they way she'd shoved back into the restaurant after trying to help him, the stubborn pride in her eyes and the bitter hurt…it had left an impression on him.

"Fuck." He didn't want her to leave an impression on him, and suddenly he raged against the idea that he'd let himself so easily be affected by concerned emerald eyes. Point of fact -- he didn't have time to be coddled. Being coddled only led to weakness. And this was certainly not the time for that.

Scooping the contents of the first aid kit back into its case, Wufei picked it up and stumbled awkwardly down the alleyway that trailed toward the street from the restaurant, moving far away from the place where the woman with beautiful eyes had given him a glimpse of what he was fighting for.

---

The quiet settled around Angel like a blanket, promising rest from what had been almost a day of frantic evacuation preparations. Relena Peacecraft's all-too-well equipped mobile army was on the way toward their camp just outside of London's massive suburbia. As it was, her small group of rebels could have melted away to a different part of the country no problem. But things weren't that easy. They'd been joined by several other rebel cells and quite a few sympathetic refugees, and now the evacuation was an elaborate process.

She collapsed on her knees in the unfamiliar bedroom, grateful for the space to breathe, grateful for the quiet, grateful for the opportunity to get off of her agonized feet.

Thousands of people were trying to get away from a massive, mobilized and well-trained army. She closed her blue eyes as foreboding washed through her entire body. _All these people… _

Dressed in combat boots, cargo pants and a green tank top, Angel should have looked like the next tired rebel. But there was a classical, regal beauty to her that her comrades seemed to rally behind. Even so simply dressed, she was their icon, their symbol of all that was right and beautiful about the world, about being English. She'd been embarrassed by the attention at first, but that had faded -- she couldn't worry about personal vanity when there were battles to be fought.

She tilted her head in prayer, asking for God's forgiveness and mercy -- mercy for the people trying to get away, forgiveness for the blood she'd spilled and was intending to spill. She simply sat in quiet, not-entirely-one-sided conversation with God, finding herself again beneath the dirt and agony, letting the silence fill her with renewed purpose.

And then the door banged open and Angel was jerked out of her thoughts. She whipped her head around, biting back an angry retort. Behind her, one of her rebel companions stood breathlessly in the doorway.

"Angel, there's no way we're going to get all these people out of here."

A pang in her chest, and she had to force her next breath. "I know."

"The army's moving too fast, they're going to catch up with --"

"_I know!"_ Angel hauled herself to her feet, guilty anger roaring through her veins. "We're going to have to make a stand, Michael. But I want those refugees to be far outside of harm's way before we do. The army will be here by morning. But the evacuees should have been out of her three hours ago."

Michael met her gaze, unflinching. They both knew that such a feat was impossible -- that everyone was already moving faster than they could especially with exhaustion and hunger nipping at their heels.

"We'll be ready by morning," he said, his voice brooking no argument. Angel nodded and he retreated out of the room, leaving her with her broken solitude.

"I pray God that's the case," she whispered to no one. "But I know we won't be."


	2. A Revolution

**Disclaimer:**_ Neither my coauthor nor I own Gundam Wing. All original characters do, however, belong to us. Please enjoy the story._

**Note:**_ This story takes place in AC. 197 -- the pilots are 18 ( except Trowa, who is 19 ). War between anti-Unification rebels and the Unified Army seems impossible to avoid. The story begins on the brink of another mobile suit war, this one without the benefit of Gundams. The pilots have split ways and now are finding themselves facing off on opposite sides of the battle. The young men who once won peace are now left struggling to determine which cause is right -- total, Unified peace, or personal identity?_

**Pairings:**_Undetermined, but watch for Hilde, Sally, Noin, and Dorothy to show up, along with several male and female OC characters._

**Please, Please, PLEASE, review this story!**_The end product is going to be huge, but we're going to need a lot of constructive criticism, so please let us know what we should work on or if we miss something. Also, let us know if you're enjoying the story! Thank you!_

**High Road  
**Part Two: _A Revolution_

_I_t shattered her slumber and her eardrums, nastily jerking Angel Tsuiraku out of her sleep. The aftershock of the detonation rocked her out of her bed, and her elbow made sharp, jarring contact with the hardwood floor beneath her. She cursed out loud, her head and arm throbbing, and hauled herself to her feet in a hurry. She'd fallen asleep in her combat gear the night before, minus the utility belt and the guns. Grateful now that she hadn't taken off her boots, she grabbed her guns and took off for the stairs, trying to shake the ringing out of her ears.

It was pandemonium, absolute and utter chaos. Refugees that hadn't been evacuated the day before were running for the line of trees, as if the natural cover would save them from missiles and grenades. The rebels were scattering like ants, scooping up what weapons they could and firing off sporadic cover fire. Angel burst out of the small, two-story farmhouse that had served as a makeshift safe house and headquarters of sorts, and stopped dead in her tracts. Mobile suits were closing in, and in front of them were foot soldiers, advancing in collected, ruthless lines. No chaos there.

"Mike!" she shouted, coming out of her nightmares, "gimme one of those!"

Mike, who had been reloading one of the few FN SCAR heavy assault rifles, glanced up at her, then dug another out of the pile beside him. Carefully darting over to him, using what cover the barrels and hay stacks provided, Angel took stock of the situation.

"Why didn't you guys wake me?" she snapped as she positioned herself and took some pot shots at the advancing Unified Army foot soldiers.

"We thought you were already up!" was the frantic reply as bullets ripped into the earth just in front of their meager cover. Angel shook her head.

"We're gonna have to get into those trees if we're going to stand a chance -- we're gonna be sitting ducks for those mobile suits when they get in range, and the fields aren't gonna be enough cover from the infantry." She gritted her teeth and glanced at Mike. "We've got to hold them until the last of the refugees gets the hell out."

Mike would have rolled his eyes if the situation hadn't been so dire. "We've got to try, anyway."

That was the last of the conversation. The rebels tried again and again to get organized and grouped, but the attack had come too early, too fast. They'd never had a chance. Some didn't even have guns, most were isolated in small groups. The fear was palpable in the air, and comrades were falling at an alarming rate. The hopelessness was a bitter taste in Angel's mouth as she signaled the retreat.

"Anybody know if the refugees are away?"

Mike gave her a baleful look, cautiously backing away from the tractor they'd been using for cover.

"Right." She could feel the iron-clad control slipping from her as the rebels slipped into the trees and scattered further. She told herself that spreading out and scattering would be beneficial, that the Unified Army would have to pick and choose targets. She tried to ignore the feeling that she was sending lambs to be sacrificed. Besides, there wasn't time to have regrets -- the Unified infantry were swarming into the forest like an infestation, and soon all she had were her prayers and Mike.

---

Quatre had led his unit of Maganac forward under cover of night, the rage sill lingering after his late-night call from Relena's Secretary of War. He had tried to stress that he'd only _politically_ sided with Relena Peacecraft and Unification, and had no intentions of becoming a crack general in her war. But he'd been strong armed, as an ally, to provide troops and aid. And his version of troops consisted of forty Arabian soldiers, his friends and allies for years, the Maganac.

The morning had revealed makeshift tents and sleeping bags, refugees and makeshift soldiers. They were scattered over the ground, the only shelter being a barn and a farmhouse on the edge of the fields. Beside him, Rasid Kurama had stiffened.

"This is who we go to make war against? This is our enemy?" His dark eyes had cut right into Quatre's soul. "This is not the noble cause I remember fighting for two years ago."

Briefly, Quatre closed his crystal blue eyes. "We have our orders."

Rasid snorted as if he wished to say more, but his loyalty to Quatre was as unshakable as ever. He simply turned his eyes forward and braced himself for what was shaping up to be a massacre.

The fighting was more intense than any of the Unified Army's soldiers had been expecting. What the rebels lacked in men, equipment and organization, they made up for in passion and courage. Though they were in a steady retreat, Quatre recognized several attempts to form organized lines and tactics. He knew if they scattered into the trees, the Army wouldn't be able to capture or kill all of them. In fact, if they were quick enough, most of the rebel forces would get away.

That is, if the mobile suits held their fire. He knew that their trigger-happy commander, Major Brice McPhearson, wouldn't hesitate to blow the forest into toothpicks if given half the chance. Luckily, Quatre's prestige as an ex-Gundam pilot and his raw skill as a tactician meant that the mobile suits would only open fire on his order. And for now his orders were that the suits were to remain out of range as a backup, to enter combat _only_ if the infantry required aid.

The Maganac crashed into the forest, following the retreating rebels under the cool canopy. Instantly, gunfire was coming from all directions. The foliage provided cover, and the scattered rebels were employing guerilla tactics. Quatre and the Maganacs found themselves grimly holding position clustered together and firing blindly into the greenery. The rest of the infantry was flooding in behind them, and he could hear the panic as the soldiers were faced with a mobile, unseen enemy. He knew his position was vulnerable, but he couldn't risk moving, or losing contact with the Maganac.

His eyes darted, searching for the source of enemy fire. He spotted movement, fired a shot, and winced as a man fell to the forest floor. Cautiously, one of the Maganac -- Ahmed -- came up to his side.

"Master Quatre," he said urgently, "perhaps we should --"

He never got to finish. Brutally cutting his words short, a bullet found its mark with deadly accuracy, and Quatre watched Ahmed fell to the floor, his eyes already going glassy.

He whirled, searching for the assassin, and locked gazes with a person half-shrouded in the shadows of the foliage. He narrowed eyes like blue steel, trying to see past the shadows and the jacket that obscured most of the figure's face. All he could make out were eyes like ice, and he memorized them, feeling an irresistible desire to make this person pay. Ahmed had fought at his side for many years. This person was not going to get away with cutting him down so savagely.

But before he could lift his gun, the figure was gone, melting back into the shadows of the forest, lithely slipping away and leaving him only with battle lunacy and intolerable loss.

---

Relena Peacecraft sat in her room alone, the reports from the skirmish outside of Greenwich spread out before her on her desk. Five hours after the initial reports had come in, and she still hadn't managed to wrap her mind around the words. She closed her eyes and saw violence. A shudder rippled through her as memories -- too fresh -- sprang to the forefront of her mind. And, as always, thoughts of war brought back the haunting, cobalt blue eyes. Somewhere out there, Heero Yuy was on the front lines. Had he been in this battle?

Quatre had. Inwardly, she winced, remembering the young man she'd met at the Sanc Kingdom a lifetime ago. Cultured, elegant and educated, with a compassion and intelligence unrivaled, Quatre had made an impression on her. He was someone who shared her ideals. Undoubtedly, he had resisted going to battle today with every ounce of his being. Though publicly he backed her, she knew there were limits to his loyalty. He hadn't been raised to blindly follow orders. But he didn't know -- couldn't have known -- that Relena had been against asking him to fight, as well.

All around her, the world was crumbling. As the figurehead of Unification, a lot of the accusing fingers had been pointed her way. But she had no real control. How could she? She was a young woman of seventeen. Her war council didn't take her seriously, and neither did the rest of the world, really.

"War again," she whispered, reading again about Major McPhearson's insuboardination. Against direct orders, against Quatre's wise council, the Major had ordered his mobile suit troops to open fire. While he had done damage to his enemy, many of his own allies had fallen to friendly fire. And it was up to her to court martial him. She couldn't have leaders like that. Puppet regent or not, there were appearances to keep up. She would have to ask Quatre to testify at the hearing. And that was really the extent of her responsibilities in this war.

A quiet knock shattered her inner dialogue, and she glanced up as Lucrezia Noin entered the room quietly. She managed a smile for her sister in law, and stood slowly, as if she were a lot older than her seventeen years.

"Noin," she said, her voice soft and warm. "It's good to see you."

"And you, Miss Relena. Milliardo is on his way here, but he got waylaid by your generals." Noin moved closer, wrapped the younger girl in a hug.

"Here in the Cinq Kingdom," Relena admitted softly, "it's easy to feel separated from the chaos. But the world is crumbling apart."

Noin closed her eyes. "This war will pass, just as the others did."

_Cobalt eyes…_ "I've lost our greatest ally. He's fighting for the rebels."

"He's never let you down before."

Funny, they didn't need to say his name out loud -- it lingered there between them, common knowledge. Noin opened her mouth to say more, but Milliardo Peacecraft chose that moment to enter the room.

"We came back from Mars as soon as we heard things were getting serious." His icy eyes were narrowed. "Your generals are getting a little too full of themselves for comfort. They have free reign over the dictation of the fighting." He met his sister's eyes. "Crushing the rebels won't crush the rebellious spirit of the people."

"I know." Sally Po had said as much when the Preventers had been dissolved three months ago. She had disappeared, more than likely offering her services to the underdogs, her eyes speaking volumes about her feelings on the subject of war. "But I can't give up on Unification, or on peace."

"Then its time to take control back. You are still acquainted with Chang Wufei?"

Noin's eyes flashed -- having even just one Gundam pilot on their side might turn the tides, and Relena was going to need all the help she could get.

"Yes," Relena replied. "He's fighting for us, although he's not a part of any unit." She frowned. "He hasn't checked in with us in a few days, and no one knows where he is. His mobile suit was shot down, but I doubt he's dead."

"I can almost guarantee that he's not dead." Milliardo didn't divulge how he could possibly know about Wufei's state of being, but neither Noin or Relena asked. He had contacts, and they could be trusted. This had been proven many, many times before. "When he contacts you, find a way to get him back here. Noin, please stay with Relena. I've got to take care of something."

He started toward the door, refusing to say more. Noin and Relena exchanged a look.

"But, Milliardo…where are you going?" Noin finally asked. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. A slight smile curved his generous lips.

"To find Heero Yuy."


End file.
